


sugar, butter, flour

by orphan_account



Category: South Park, Waitress - Bareilles/Nelson
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/F, Infidelity, M/M, Pregnancy, References to Sex, Waitress the musical AU, also, author who has never baked a day in her life attempts to describe pies, buckle in boys lets see if i keep this up, but no actual sex scenes bc i am Useless at that, my emetophobia said u Will write these nausea scenes pussy, okay here r the necessary tags, questionable morality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-12-25 19:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bebe Stevens has a lot on her plate. Between an abusive, loveless marriage, a low-paying job at the local diner and a unwanted pregnancy, she feels lost and alone. The one thing that she can always rely on for a little bit of relief is her talent for baking pies.Well, that and her gorgeous, dark haired gynecologist who also happens to be unhappily married.





	1. intro: what's inside?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no need to hide her feelings when she bakes. No need to conceal her emotions or pretend everything’s fine.

If there's one thing Bebe Stevens is sure of, it’s that there are three essential ingredients one needs when baking a pie:

1\. Sugar  
2\. Butter  
3\. Flour

She repeats these three words over and over again in her head as her hands instinctively reach for each key item: the first shelf of the left side of the pantry for the sugar, the third shelf of the right side of the pantry for the butter and the fourth shelf of the right side of the pantry for the flour. It’s an automatic process at this point.

Bebe loves it. Loves how everything is always in the right place, loves how organised she somehow manages to keep the kitchen and loves how she gets to express herself through each and every pie she makes there. Chef’s Diner’s kitchen is her home. Sure, she has her own place - a quaint bungalow she bought years ago that’s kept in shoddy condition with beer bottles littering the entire house, thanks to her husband - but her workplace is the only place where she feels completely and utterly herself.

There’s no need to hide her feelings when she bakes. No need to conceal her emotions or pretend everything’s fine. Bebe puts her heart and soul into every crumb produced by her own hands, and it truly shows when the finished product finally comes out of the oven. The Special Pie of The Day has became a staple in the menu, and customers can’t seem to get enough.

Bebe pours a teaspoon of sugar into her giant mixing bowl followed by around 2 ½ cups of flour. She takes her spoon and begins to stir, contemplating the kind of pie to make today. She takes a moment and evaluates her current emotions, which are as follows:

1\. Tired  
2\. Terrified  
3\. Annoyed

She lets out a sigh as she puts two sticks of butter in with the sugar and flour mix. She continues stirring manually until the mixture is perfect, adds four teaspoons of ice water and begins to knead the dough. She’ll add an acidic filling, she thinks, like blueberry or blackberry, for a sharp sensation on the tongue, throw in some bacon bits so it’s tough in places. Then, perhaps a criss crossed crust top to represent how scrambled her mind feels, and maybe powdered sugar on top for that delicious taste of _hey, maybe there is a good side to this_ and maybe even-

Her thoughts are promptly cut off as a surge of nausea hits her like a brick. Bebe gasps and presses a hand against her restless stomach. A few moments pass, and the feeling’s gone just as fast as it came. Bebe squeezes her eyes shut and says a silent prayer to a God she doesn’t even think she believes in anymore, just in case.

If praying is what’ll delay the inevitable, that’s just what she’ll do.

She glances briefly at the clock in the corner of the room. 4:10 am. Plenty of time to get the first one in the oven. Bebe knows she has more ready made pie crusts in the fridge, but she always prefers making the very first of any new Special Pie purely from scratch. It’s her own little tradition she inherited from her mother. A small smile appears on Bebe’s face as she resumes kneading the dough, taking a moment to reminisce.

When Bebe was five years old, her mother taught her how to bake her first pie. She can remember the scene clearly; her mother’s blue apron caked in flour, her own hands coated with powdered sugar, butter under her fingernails, her mother’s tinkling laugh. When the job was finished, and the apple pie was taken out of the oven, still hot, she had felt a sudden surge of pride. This was _her_ pie. _Her_ creation.

Her mother had the privilege of cutting the first slice and having the first taste. Bebe could never forget the way the corners of her mouth lifted up as the pie met her tongue or the way her eyes shone with glee. The way she lifted Bebe up, presting her daughter on her hip, and showered praise upon her, insisting it was the best apple pie she had ever eaten.

Now, knowing better, Bebe supposes she was exaggerating. After all, her mother had tasted pie made by true professionals and world-renowned bakers. Hell, her _own_ apple pie was far superior to anything a five year old could have conjured up. But, at the time, Bebe had believed her wholeheartedly and baking quickly became her passion, to her mother’s delight.

Baking was Bebe’s mother’s favourite thing in the world (discounting Bebe, of course). Baking was her joy and her comfort. Her escape from the harsh reality that surrounded and suffocated her in her own home.

Mr. Stevens never liked baking. Mr. Stevens thought baking was a useless skill, thought it was too girly and messy. But Mr. Stevens also beat her mother so any other opinion he may have had rendered null and void in Bebe’s humble opinion. Her mother was more at peace in the kitchen than she ever was in the presence of her husband.

Bebe always helped her out in any way she could, be it measuring out ingredients, cracking the eggs or just licking the spoon at the end. In return, her mother would help her out when Bebe was making her own pies, even though she rarely needed to. Bebe became extremely skilled at baking, especially when it came to pies. She started baking pies daily when she was ten and began making her own recipes when she was thirteen, much to her mother’s delight and Mr. Stevens typical scorn.

She was fifteen when she had to make the move to her aunt’s house, something which scared her immensely. Her aunt lived in a town. in Colorado Bebe had never heard of but apparently had a terrible reputation, which had only furthered her fear of the move. Truthfully, South Park isn’t that bad. Sure, the air reeks of cow shit and the people are about as friendly as raging bull, but her aunt was nothing but kind to her, she now has a job doing her favourite thing and you get used to the smell eventually.

It was what happened _before_ the move Bebe thinks truly terrified her.

Before she can think too much about it, Bebe decides to busy herself with shaping the pie crust. When the pie crust is complete, Bebe pours in the blueberry mixture she keeps in the fridge until the middle is filled to the brim, sprinkles in cut up pieces of bacon and proceeds to lay strips of dough across the top. She stands back for a second, looking at her creation and smiling. Once she’s certain that she’s satisfied, she takes the tray her pie is on, opens one of the preheated oven’s door and places her pie in.

She stands up straight and checks the time. 4:37 am. Perfect.

Bebe spends the next two hours creating batch upon batch of her new Special Pie, putting her blood, sweat and tears into perfecting every one. She’s adding the powdered sugar to her sixth batch when she feels the sharp wave of nausea hit her once more. This time, she doubles over, squeezing at her stomach and puffing through it. There are three things that she doesn’t do:

1\. Throw up  
2\. Check if anyone’s there to help  
3\. Accept what she already knows

She grips the metal table edge and waits for it to fade. Just as it does and relief washes over her, she hears a loud _Ding!,_ and Kyle Broflovski is at the door to the kitchen, bell in hand and a knowing grin on his face.

“How long have you been here for?” he asks.

“Since about...” Bebe looks at the clock a final time. 6:45 am. “...three hours ago.”

Kyle just shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Well, you’d better come out front. Kenny and Tweek are here.”

Bebe nods and takes her messy baking apron off, swapping it with the her clean waitress apron waiting for her on the hook by the doorframe Kyle is leaning against. She fastens it around her waist and shoots a weak smile at her red-headed boss, still reeling from the feeling of dread in her stomach and bile in her throat. He offers a small one back before ushering her out of the room.

“So, what’s the Special Pie today?”

“Deep shit blueberry bacon.”

“Deep _shit_?”

“Ye- deep dish! Deep dish blueberry bacon. Sorry, Kyle.”

“Wake up, Bebe.” Another _Ding!_ for effect. “Order up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi  
> uhhhh this is my first published fic i will (hopefully) not give up on halfway through so . yea idk how this works ao3 scares the Shite out of me. sorry this chapter's so short i promise the other chapter's will be much longer this is jus kind of a Prologue Of Sorts.  
> anyway i hope u enjoy reading this completeMess whoever u are kudos and comments are always appreciated yadda yadda yadda thank u<3  
> next update will b . idk but probably within a week i say probably because i am a professional procrastinator fjsjsgdjh okay bye


	2. opening up/the negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She takes a deep breath in through her nose and out of her mouth, something she had learned from Tweek a while back. She closes her eyes and repeats a quiet mantra of one line, one line, one line, one line-

Bebe has never met two people quite like Kenny McCormick and Tweek Tweak. Well, that may be attributed to the fact that she hasn’t met many people in general, but she’s certain these two are particularly unique.

Maybe it’s because of their upbringing, seeing as South Park locals all seem to have a shared sense of humour, almost offensive lack of fashion sense and a lot of emotional trauma. Maybe it’s their appearances, with Kenny’s childlike face, bright blue eyes and crooked fingers that constantly have band aids littering them and Tweek’s vampire-esque complexion, fingernails chewed to pieces and frizzy blonde hair that looks like it’s been electrocuted. Or, maybe it’s the fact that they’re entirely polar opposites and still manage to get along so well.

For example, they’re both at the extreme opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to their moods in the morning. While Kenny greets Bebe with a big, toothy grin when the he spots her heading towards them, Tweek doesn’t even glance up, continuing to squint down at the granite counter he’s leaning on. Bebe assumes he’s trying not to fall asleep.

“Mornin’, Bebe,” Kenny calls cheerily. Tweek flinches and hisses a _shhh!_ in his direction. Kenny just rolls his eyes teasingly and gives Bebe a high-five when she joins them, Kyle separating to clean up his workstation just behind them. “How long have you been here?”

Ever since she started baking a new pie for the diner daily, it’s been an unspoken rule that Bebe is allowed come in at hell o’clock every morning to prepare whatever recipe she comes up with that day. Kyle had given her a spare pair of keys and everything. Bebe enjoys her early hours for three reasons:

  1. It gives her plenty of time to bake lots of pies before orders start piling up.
  2. It allows her to sort through and asses her emotions at the very start of the day.
  3. It’s an excuse to stay away from home.



“About three hours,” she replies. Tweek finally looks up, staring at her.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers in reluctant awe. Bebe responds by ruffling his messy locks and laughing at the way his face scrunches up as he bats her hand away. He runs his own hand through his hair in an attempt to make it look presentable and sighs. Bebe notes the bags under his eyes that seem to have darkened overnight, if that’s even possible.

“Sleep well?” she asks them, already knowing their answers.

“Like a baby,” Kenny beams.

“No,” is all Tweek offers. Bebe frowns at his defeated tone, but she knows her coworkers moods will be switched by the time breakfast rush rolls around, so she doesn’t worry too much. She’s about to ask him if he forgot to take his medication when Tweek turns to her, eyes a little brighter. “What’s today’s pie?”

Bebe smiles. “Deep Dish Blueberry Bacon,” she huffs out a laugh. “Not very creative, but-”

“Oh, shut up,” Kenny grins, “it sounds delicious. Customers are gonna eat that shit up.” He mimes a swoon and leans against Tweek’s shoulder. “God, I love it when your talent funds my paycheck. Really gets me going.”

“Get off me,” Tweek groans, shoving a laughing Kenny to the side as Bebe rolls her eyes. Kenny takes a short stick of chalk from the chalk box resting by the cash register and makes his way over to the blackboard on the wall. He rubs out the previous pie name (Inside Out Pineapple Pie) with the sleeve of his blue uniform shirt, dirtying it with white chalk stains that Kyle will definitely yell at him for later, and writes _Deep Dish Blueberry Bacon_ in large writing.

He returns the chalk to the box and glances at the watch on his freckled wrist. “Our seven o’clock regulars should start showin’ up soon.”

Bebe picks flour out from under her manicured nails and sighs. “If Creepy Moustache Man sits in my section, I’m gonna vomit on him.” Tweek barks out a laugh.

“I just hope I get the cute twinky guy, he’s so easy to deal with,” Kenny shrugs.

“He’s not really a twink,” Tweek says, wrinkling his nose. “He’s cute, though.”

“You think he’s cute?” Bebe wiggles her eyebrows and Tweek rolls his eyes.

“Not like _that_ ,” he huffs. “He’s, like, puppy cute. Besides, he looks twelve.”

“Hey,” Kenny reaches over the counter in front of Kyle’s workstation, retrieves a spatula and points it at Tweek accusingly, “you leave my cute little twinky regular alone.”

“How comes he gets to call him cute without an interrogation? And he’s still not a twink.”

“What the hell are you all on about?” Kyle snorts, as he snatches his spatula back from Kenny’s hand. “Also, Bebe, if you vomit on literally anyone-”

“I won’t, I promise,” Bebe reassures him.

Kyle frowns for a second, becoming serious. “Hey, y’know, if you really feel that sick, maybe you should take the day off.”

Bebe shakes her head. “I’m fine, Kyle,” she says, mustering up as convincing a smile as possible. It’s a bold faced lie, but she hasn’t taken a day off work since she started this job and does _not_ plan on starting now.

Sure, her husband has a job (which is honestly kind of shocking when she thinks about how terrible he is around people), but Bebe’s the one paying the bills instead of spending it on booze and whatever dumb contraption he can find on Wish.com. Being a waitress may be a low paying job, but it’s what’s keeping a roof over her head. As far as Bebe’s concerned, she can’t afford to miss a single day.

Kyle still doesn’t look satisfied but, realising there’s no point in trying to convince her otherwise, continues scrubbing his kitchen utensils, offering a simple, “Kenny, you’re cleaning it up if she throws up.”

Kenny just rolls his eyes and mouths _please don’t throw up_ at Bebe. She responds with a thumbs up despite being very unsure as to whether she can keep that promise. Kenny opens his mouth to say something to Kyle, most likely something to make Kyle flustered and subsequently annoyed, when the telltale sound of the bell above the entrance door sounds, alerting the four workers that their long day is now beginning.

It’s Creepy Moustache Man, because of course it is, and he takes his usual seat in Bebe’s section, because of course he does, so Bebe spends her first order trying not to gag from the strange, putrid smell wafting off of him as he wears what he clearly thinks is a winning smile but comes off more like drunk Pennywise.

The typical stream of customers start trickling in from there. By eight o’clock, the diner is buzzing with conversation. The crowd Chef’s Diner draws in during weekdays usually contain:

  1. Anxious workers who just pop in to get a croissant or a black coffee before scurrying out the door as fast as humanly possible.
  2. Unenthusiastic teenagers who would prefer to gobble down pie and pancakes and chat shit with their friends than go to the one shitty public school in town.
  3. Chef, the diner’s owner, who comes in every day at around eleven o’clock, discusses the recent town gossip and orders something unpredictable.



Usually, weekdays are a lot easier than weekends, but Bebe finds herself struggling. As she darts around the diner, trying her hardest not to react to the stench of the food she’s dishing out, her coworkers keep a close eye on her and the increasingly strained smile planted on her face. At some point, Tweek pulls her aside and gently suggests that _maybe you should sit down for a while?_ , but Bebe shakes her head and insists that _I’m fine, sugar, I promise_. She relays the same to Kenny shortly after, adding that _I can’t stop working. I need the tips, Ken._

Bebe almost cries with relief when she sees Chef walk through the entrance doors and take his regular seat near the retro jukebox in her section. It’s no secret that she’s his favourite worker at the diner (much to Kyle’s charagrin) and Bebe hopes he can make her feel at least somewhat better. She makes her way over as quickly as possible, pulling out her pad and pencil. “Morning, Chef,” she exclaims. He looks up and smiles at her.

“Ah, good mornin’, child,” he replies cheerfully, his kind tone immediately making Bebe feel better. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, y’know, fine,” Bebe lies through her teeth. Chef detects nothing and continues beaming at her.

“Good to hear, good to hear,” he grins. “Say, have you heard about the new couple that came to town?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well, I saw them myself the other day. Went up and introduced myself, y’know. Apparently, they’re both doctors. Ain’t that wonderful? Seemed real nice too.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely, Chef,” Bebe laughs, enjoying how animated Chef gets when describing things. She clears her throat and taps her pencil against her pad, an eyebrow raised in question. “What’ll you have today?” she asks.

“Well, hm, let me see…” he looks down at the menu in front of him, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Can I get the scrambled eggs and toast with tomato on the side?”

“Uh huh,” Bebe mutters, scribbling down the order on her paper.

“And make sure the tomato’s on it’s own plate.”

“Yup.”

“Ooh! And a slice of your Deep Dish Blueberry Bacon pie, if you please.”

“Of course. That all?” Bebe looks at him quizzingly.

“Coffee would be lovely,” Chef muses. Bebe nods and adds that to the list on her notepad. “I’ll have it after I’m finished my meal, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, Chef,” she says, tucking the pencil back behind her ear. She’s about to say something else to him when her stomach unexpectedly churns, taking her by surprise. It’s only brief, but it scares her enough to just be able to say a quick, “I’ll have that over ASAP,” before speed-walking back to the counter, trying not to breathe near Kyle’s workstation as a strong coffee scent wafts through the air. Bebe slaps the order onto the order wheel above her head and breathes out deeply, desperately trying to focus on literally anything but the voice screaming _YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT’S WRONG_ in her head.

It’s around midday when Kenny finally puts his foot down after seeing Bebe almost vomit into a customer’s vanilla mocha as she was handing it to them. He gently takes her hand when she returns to the counter while scanning the diner for Tweek. Once the other blonde is spotted, Kenny turns to Kyle and shoots the most charming smile he can muster.

“We’re gonna take a quick ten minute lunch break,” he informs Kyle, who simply raises his eyebrows.

“Is that a request or a statement?” he asks. It’s redundant, but Kenny answers anyway.

“Statement,” Kenny replies earnestly.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Thin ice, McCormick,” he warns, but Bebe knows he doesn't mean it. He never does. Kyle only puts on the Tough Boss act when Chef is present in the diner in an attempt to impress the old man. Tweek finds it sort of terrifying, Kenny finds it adorable and Bebe finds it just a _little_ bit pathetic. Kyle ponders for a moment and reluctantly says, “You have ten minutes and that’s it.”

Kenny nods his thanks and waves Tweek over frantically. Tweek furrows his brows in question and Kenny not-so-subtly yanks his head in the direction of Bebe’s stomach, causing her to turn bright red and smack Kenny’s arm.

“What the hell are you playing at?” she hisses as Tweek joins Kenny’s side. The boys don’t respond, instead exchanging a knowing look that immediately infuriates Bebe. “Well?”

Again, she gets no answer. Tweek takes her other hand and before she knows it, they’re leading her to the staff bathrooms by the kitchen, ignoring Kyle frantically yelling, “I didn’t know you were _all_ going, am I supposed to do everything?” after them. Bebe gives up even entertaining the idea of stopping them. Once Kenny gets an idea in his head, good or bad, there’s no point in trying to get him not to go through with it, stubborn motherfucker that he is.

Once the three reach the tacky hot pink door with WOMEN painted on it, safely away from the buzzing of noise from the diner, Tweek lets go, and Kenny turns to Bebe and looks at her with a glint in his eyes that translates to I Am Up To No Good. He then opens the door and saunters inside, tugging Bebe with him and ignoring her hissing that _this is the women’s room, you weirdo_. After Tweek follows them in and closes the door, Kenny kneels down, pulls out a key after fishing around in his back pocket for a moment and opens the cabinet doors situated below the sink. Then, to Bebe’s complete horror, he retrieves a familiar item and points it at her almost accusingly.

“Time to piss on a stick,” he says bluntly, and all of Bebe’s fear comes crashing down on her.

“Kenny-” Bebe starts but is interrupted by the instrument of misfortune being shoved into her hands. She freezes up and splutters for a moment, resisting the urge to chuck the stick right back at his freckled face. “I don’t wanna know,” she finally spits out.

She feels Tweek’s hand on her arm, squeezing in support. “You can’t ignore it forever,” Tweek points out.

“Oh, I’ll find a way,” Bebe grumbles. “Anyway, this- I mean, you guys are completely overreacting. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Kenny responds dryly, “sure, you’re completely fine, even though you’ve been more nauseous in a week than I’ve seen you be in three years.”

“I’m just sick, that’s all,” Bebe insists frantically, panic rising in her chest. Or maybe that’s just the vomit.

“Okay,” Tweek muses, back by the door, “if you’re just sick, nothing more, then that means taking the test is just a reassurance thing. Like, something to just confirm what you already know.”

“If I already know, I don’t need to confirm,” Bebe snaps, whipping her head around to glare at Tweek. She turns back to Kenny and points at the offending pregnancy test in her hand. “When did you even get this?”

Kenny shrugs. “Couple days ago for, like, $8 at CVS. Noticed you hadn’t told us that you’re on your period in a while. Tweek actually suggested it.”

Bebe opens her mouth to reprimand Tweek and closes it again. Usually, she gives the boys a warning the day it starts in case she has to go to the bathroom an excessive amount of times. There’s been a significant absence of that recently, considering her period is a week late. She’s been telling herself that _sometimes they’re just late, it’s natural_ and _maybe my app fucked up_ , but she knows deep down it’s all bullshit. She knows everything coming out of her mouth is bullshit. And she definitely knows that Kenny and Tweek know everything coming out of her mouth is bullshit.

A pause ensues in which:

  1. Kenny keeps staring at Bebe expectantly.
  2. Tweek picks nervously at the skin around his nails.
  3. Bebe looks down at the test in her shaky, sweaty hands and considers.



After a few seconds of contemplation that feels like hours, Bebe sighs and tightens her grip on the stick of doom. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.” Kenny nods in satisfaction, and motions towards one of the two stalls in the grimy bathroom. Bebe follows his motions, walking slowly inside and locking the door behind her. She looks at the clean test one last time, takes a shaky breath in and resists the stinging of tears in her eyes the best she can.

“Do you remember the instructions?” she hears Kenny ask.

“Yeah, uh,” Tweek thinks for a moment, “remove the cap. Pee, obviously. Put the tip into the urine stream for five seconds. Uhm, do not insert the stick into your vagina.”

“Okay, I know you don’t know much about female anatomy, Tweek, but that’s kind of common knowledge-”

“Shut up, it was on the box!”

They banter back and forth for a minute, something that honestly kind of relaxes Bebe. At least, despite everything, she’s not doing this alone.

When she emerges from the stall, she immediately places the test on the sink with the result window facing down and slides down to the floor, her back against the stall door. “I’m gonna lose it.”

“Relax,” Kenny soothes, pressing start on the three minute timer he already had set up on his phone. He sets the phone next to the test and crouches down beside her. “We don’t know what it says yet.” Tweek sinks to the floor to join them. sitting cross-legged on Bebe’s right.

“There are only two possible answers,” Tweek points out. “It’s gonna be either a solid no or a solid yes. Nothing more to it.”

“This is a fucking nightmare,” Bebe groans. She feels her bottom lip begin to quiver and buries her face in her hands in an attempt to hide the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “My life is over.”

“Calm down, Bebe.”

“I can’t! You’re both making me panic,” she sobs into her hands, words muffled. Kenny huffs out a sigh, reaches forward and softly pulls her hands away, using them to help haul her up from the dirty floor.

“I mean, it’s not like you really sleep with your husband anymore,” Tweek tries, standing up to join them.

Bebe shakes her head. “I did. He got me drunk. God, I do stupid things when I drink, like sleep with my husband.” Tweek wrinkles his nose up in disgust and murmurs a quiet _oh_. Bebe feels herself start to shake involuntarily again, nerves getting the best of her as the timer ticks closer and closer to the three minute mark.

“Don’t panic,” Kenny says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Tell you what, let’s all just will it to be negative. Totally just pull a ‘thoughts and prayers’, alright?”

Bebe sniffles and sighs. “That’s so stupid.”

“Well, it’s all we can do right now,” Kenny shrugs. Bebe sniffles again and goes to stand in front of the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are red from crying and tears have made her pale skin look blotchy, but it’s still just her. Still Bebe. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and out of her mouth, something she had learned from Tweek a while back. She closes her eyes and repeats a quiet mantra of _one line, one line, one line, one line-_

The tell-tale sound of the phone alarm suddenly echoes around the bathroom. Bebe nearly slips with surprise, catching herself on the edge of the sink. She snaps her eyes open and stares at the upside-down test, chest beginning to heave again. Tweek’s hand is on her shoulder in an instant, a gentle reminder that she’s not alone and it’ll all be okay. Bebe reaches her hand forward to take the test but hesitates.

“Can you guys stand over there? I wanna see by myself,” she requests. The boys nod and scurry over to the door, looking at her expectantly.

Bebe wrings her hands together, blinking heavily. She can feel her heartbeat thumping in her chest, almost like it wants to leap out. She shakily exhales, blood rushing in her ears, and practically snatches the stick up from where it rests. She squeezes her eyes shut, turns the test over and counts down in her head:

1…

2…

3.

Bebe opens her eyes and lets her vision adjust to the bright bathroom lights. When it does, she finds herself looking at two pink lines, clear as day.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah look shes alive!!!!  
> hi im back exactly two weeks later Yas  
> this took longer 2 write than expected but hey at least we r here! actually gagged that people wanna read this like i have to cry thank u 4 validation in the form of kudos n comments MWAH  
> next chapter will probably take just as long lol shes a slow writer . anyway thank u fr reading this utter word garbage yadda yadda <3  
> also shoutout 2 alyssa for being extra motivation okay bye


	3. what baking can do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She quietly murmurs, “Mother, it’s amazing what baking can do,” to herself, for no real reason except the glimmer of hope that, somehow, she would be heard.

There’s a prolonged silence that follows Bebe’s exclamation. No one dares to move, or speak, or breathe too loudly.

It feels like the entire world has stopped moving. But, then again, why wouldn’t it? Why should the world keep spinning and everyone just go about their business when Bebe’s life is ruined forever? Why should she let everything just continue as normal when it feels like God has reached down and slapped her across the face?

She doesn’t understand. Bebe’s a good person, as far as she knows. She's never committed some terrible act that would explain the universe punishing her in this unconventional and especially cruel way. Maybe she murdered the President in her past life or something. As far as Bebe’s concerned, that's the only logical explanation.

After a few more seconds of tense quiet, she drops the test, grabs onto the edges of the sink and looks up to find her stunned reflection staring back at her. Repressing the urge to let out the unholiest of banshee screeches, Bebe exhales deeply and laughs humorlessly. “What the fuck?” is the only thing she says, and she doesn’t even really register that it’s _her_ that said it. Her head feels like it’s detached from her body and is just floating around, watching her mentally unravel from afar.

Kenny is the first to approach her, followed gingerly by Tweek. He joins her on her right side, his hand landing on her shoulder. The pressure jolts Bebe back into reality, and she almost jumps as Kenny asks, “Are you okay?” in that tone that indicates he already knows the answer.

Bebe puts her hand up as his mouth opens to speak again, efficiently silencing him. “Shut up for a sec. I’m creating a new pie in my head.”

“Bebe-”

“I’m gonna call it,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “I Don’t Want Scott’s Baby Pie.”

Another tense silence occurs before Tweek, who’s positioned himself on Bebe’s left, mutters, “I don’t think we can put that on the menu board.”

“Okay,” she thinks for a second, “I’ll call it Betrayed By My Eggs Pie.”

“That really isn’t any better,” Kenny says, smiling a little like this whole situation is amusing to him. Bebe’s grip tightens on the sink. “And, uh, I don’t really think you can stuff this into a pie.”

Bebe drops her calm facade then, whipping her head around to glare madly at Kenny. “Fine,” she growls, “how about I’m Gonna Kick Every Man In A Five Mile Radius If They Try Tell Me How To Feel Right Now Pie?”

Kenny throws his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay,” he replies, guilt seeping into his tone, “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.” Bebe turns her head back straight and makes eye contact with the Tweek in the mirror. He hands her a piece of toilet paper, and she’s confused before she realises there’s tears dripping down her cheeks. She dabs them away quickly, making sure not to wipe and ruin her skin even further.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks quietly, continuing to look at her. His expression is so earnest and caring that she has to look away before she starts crying. Again.

“I don’t know,” she answers, because she really doesn’t.

“Are you… y’know…” he motions to his crotch and does some weird jabbing motion. Bebe doesn’t even have it in her to roll her eyes, so she hides them in her hands instead.

“Just say abortion, Tweek. And _no_. Do you have any idea how much that shit costs?” she snaps, raising her voice just a little too loud. She feels him flinch beside her and instantly feels guilty. “Sorry, honey. I’m being a bitch.” She slams her hands down on the marble countertop either side of the sink, beyond frustrated with herself.

“You’re not,” Tweek insists firmly.

“Definitely not,” Kenny repeats. He starts to rub her shoulders in an effort to comfort her, and Bebe has to fight the urge to shrug him off, the touch making her want to vomit. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is you can’t just tuck all of this into a pie and expect it to be okay.”

Bebe opens her mouth to say something, or maybe just to scream, but she’s interrupted by a sheepish knock on the door. The three coworkers quickly look towards the sound.

“Bebe,” they hear Kyle’s concerned voice, “if you’re throwing up, I’m sending you home.”

“I’m fine, Kyle,” Bebe calls back, sounding surprisingly convincing despite being the complete opposite of fine. “I’m coming out now.” She rolls her shoulders, indicating she wants Kenny to let go, and pick up the test in the sink. She stares at the taunting result for a forlorn second before shoving it hastily into her pocket. Taking in one last view of herself in oval shaped mirror, Bebe:

  1. carefully dabs away the mascara smeared under her eyes with the toilet paper in her hand.
  2. quietly mourns life as she knows it.
  3. starts towards the door, Kenny and Tweek in tow.



Kyle doesn’t ask her any questions, but he can’t resist murmuring, “What is this, Sisterhood of The Travelling Dumbasses?” when the two men walk out. Kenny just sticks out his tongue in response. Bebe smiles at his childishness, but her smile drops when she walks back out into the diner and sees Scott sitting right in the middle of her section, legs spread under the table and snapback covering his flaming red curls.

“You have _got_ to be joking,” she groans. “I’m, like, cursed.”

“Let me serve him,” Kenny offers, though Bebe reads it more as a threat judging by the fire in his eyes.

Bebe shakes her head. “If I don’t do it, he’s gonna give me hell at home.”

“Besides, I don’t want blood on my floors,” Kyle jokes. Well, Bebe thinks he’s joking, but he’s also staring at Kenny like he’s genuinely concerned he’s going to murder Scott on the spot. Actually, the more Bebe entertains the idea, the more appealing it sounds. She’s close to letting Kenny go ahead, but Scott sees her before she can and waves her over, that idiotic smirk on his face.

Kenny leans against the counter to sneer at her husband while Tweek shoots her a quick, sympathetic smile before scurrying off to take an order. Bebe wills her strength from earlier in the morning to return to her as she strides over to the last person she wants to see right now, notepad and pen in hand. Her stomach lurches, but she doesn’t even flinch. The only thing she can focus on is the voice in her head yelling _DON’T LET HIM KNOW DON’T LET HIM KNOW DON’T LET H-_

“Hey, sweet thang,” Scott greets her with his usual lack of charm. Bebe tries not to gag on the stench of cheap beer wafting from his body in thick fumes. She plants a convincing smile on her face.

“Scott,” she greets back, trying to appear somewhat enthusiastic, “what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a man see his wife on his day off?” he pouts.

“It’s your day off?”

“Nah, boss was bein’ a bitch about me bein’ late. What a shithead,” he scoffs, looks up and gives Bebe a once-over. “Tits look great, babe.” Bebe cringes, utterly mortified, and wants to shrivel up and die when the patrons sitting the next table over start staring at them.

Choosing not to comment on that, Bebe sighs and says through gritted teeth, “What’ll it be, Scott?”

Earl thinks for a moment, his chin in his hand. “I’ll have your Deep Dish Blueberry Bacon Pie. Generous slice.” Bebe doesn’t have the energy to tell him that all slices are the same size, so she just nods and begins to walk away to get his order. She’s stopped by a firm hand clutching her wrist, and she almost falls backwards. “No, no. You stay here with me. Get one of the guys to do it or somethin’.”

“This is my section, it’s my job to-”

“Is there a problem?” Tweek asks coolly, stopping his journey back to the counter to intervene. Bebe’s a little taken aback by the unfamiliar tone, but she’s incredibly grateful he used it as Scott’s clearly intimidated enough to let go of her wrist and shrug.

“Not at all,” he puts a hand up defensively. “The missus here-” he gestures to Bebe, who has to physically fight the urge to roll her eyes, “-was just about to ask if you could fetch me a slice of her pie. If you don’t mind,” he adds, mouth stretching into a grin that could only be compared to the cheshire cat.

Tweek narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, choosing to nod slowly, glare at Scott when he glances back up at Bebe and walk towards the kitchen. When he’s gone, Scott shakes his head.

“I don’t like these waiters, babe,” he says slowly. He scowls and jabs an accusing finger in the direction of Kenny, still leaning against the counter and shooting daggers at him. “That one looks like I just killed his dog. And I get Crazy Eyes is your Best Fag Forever or whatever, but he’s so fuckin’ weird.”

There’s a slam of a plate landing on the table and a murmur informing Bebe that _it’s the last slice_ a moment later, and Bebe can only hope Tweek didn’t hear that. Scott, oblivious as ever, turns his gaze down to the pie in front of him and beams. Before Bebe knows it, he’s stuffing his mouth full, chewing obnoxiously and practically moaning. Maybe Bebe should feel some sense of pride in herself, but she just feels uncomfortable.

“This,” Scott exclaims, crumbs tumbling from his lips, “is the stuff, babe.”

“Thank you,” Bebe replies, trying her hardest not to heave as Scott wipes a bit of blueberry mixture from the side of his mouth. “It’s the last slice, too. Customers are really loving it, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Scott seems to notice how her eyes glow a little brighter and her forced smile become a bit more real, and he quickly swallows the remaining bite and snorts. “Yeah, well, don’t give yourself too much credit. You’re good, y’know, but you’re no Sara Lee.”

Bebe hates how her spirits are immediately dampened and reduced to nothing right before her eyes. She hates how much power this disgusting, greasy slob has over her emotions. She hates how he’s sitting there, eyebrow raised and mouth all smug, because he knows he’s got to her.

“Remember when you’d tell me my pies were so good that I could open my own pie shop someday?” Bebe sighs, eyes avoiding her husband and instead staring down at her nails.

“Yeah,” Scott grunts, “but I was jus’ tryna get laid.”

There are three things Bebe wants to respond to that with:

  1. A scream so piercing that it smashes every window in the building.
  2. A sob so heart wrenching that someone finally hears her and takes her away from all of this.
  3. A slap across her idiotic husband’s face so hard that it breaks his teeth.



Bebe feels a little guilty about that last one. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she does.

After the silence prolongs a little too long, Scott claps his hands together loudly, stands up and exclaims, “Right, I’ll see you at home.” He leans forward and waits. Bebe reconsiders the slapping option but gathers herself enough to give him a soft kiss on one freckled cheek. It’s good enough for Scott, and he practically bounds towards the door and opens it. Before he leaves, he turns his head around and shoots finger gun in Kenny’s direction. Kenny responds with a middle finger, but he’s already gone, the door closing shut abruptly behind him.

Bebe desperately tries to ignore the pounding in her chest and spectators eyes on her as she briskly speed-walks back to the counter. She avoids Kenny’s eyes and busies herself with rearranging the ketchup and mustard bottles, which means basically just swapping them around aimlessly. Kenny doesn’t interrupt her. She’s only halted a moment later when Tweek arrives and clears his throat.

“So,” he almost laughs, “Best Fag Forever has a nice ring to it, I guess.”

Bebe looks up at him in horror. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Tweek.”

“It’s alright,” Tweek shrugs. “Used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bebe shakes her head. “It’s not alright, you shouldn’t have to hear that kind of bullshit anywhere, especially not at work.”

‘Yeah, it’s not alright,” Kenny huffs. “You know what else isn’t alright? Literally everythin’ else that came out of his mouth.” Bebe doesn’t say anything, so Kenny continues, “Look, Tweek’s too nice to say it so I will: Do you really want _that_ guy to be a father?”

Bebe feels her skin prickle. “He’s not always like this,” she tries, not even really knowing why she’s defending him. “He’s just going through a rough patch.”

“Seriously? That’s the angle you’re going with?”

“Well, you tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do,” Bebe says harshly, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t have the money to leave him. He’d never let me anyway.”

“It’s not up to him,” Kenny replies, voice gentler now. Bebe shakes her head.

“Hey, you could always stay with me,” Tweek offers, leaning against Kyle’s workspace. “I know the studio’s not really the biggest, but I have a twin bed so there’s enough room for both of us to sleep.”

“That’s kind of you, sugar, but I have a baby coming,” Bebe wipes her hands on her apron despite them being perfectly clean and takes a deep breath. “I’ll just have to get myself out of this somehow. I’ll figure something out.” She knows that there’s absolutely no way she’ll be able to worm herself out of this in less than nine months, but she can’t bear to look at her colleagues pitiful eyes any longer. It hurts too much.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I’m not gonna sit here feeling sorry for myself. People have it a lot worse than me. I married him, I have to deal with the consequences.”

Kenny frowns. “That’s not fair on yourself, Bebe. Look, yeah, everyone’s life sucks in one way or another. I grew up in a glorified shed with parents who couldn’t spell my name, and I had to sell my couch at the pawn shop in order to pay last month’s rent. Tweek looks like a crack addict-”

Tweek barks out a laugh, like Kenny’s hyperbolic statement is some kind of inside joke he has with himself.

“-and wants a boyfriend even though he’s afraid of commitment and human interaction in general. But even though our lives suck, we still wouldn't want to have yours. I think you’re allowed to feel sorry for yourself.”

Bebe doesn’t know how to reply without bursting into tears, so she remains silent.

Kenny opens his mouth to say something else but shuts it when he meets Kyle’s pointed gaze over Tweek’s shoulder. He gives the ginger man a wink, ignoring the groan that follows, and cracks his knuckles, causing Bebe to wince at the sound.

“Listen,” he directs towards Bebe, “if you ever need anythin’, I’m here, y’know? So is Tweek.” On cue, Tweek gives a little wave. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Bebe nods and smiles as her two coworkers swiftly get back to work. She drop the smile once they’re out of her gaze. She feels someone’s eyes burning into her back and turns her head to find Kyle giving her that _look_ he always has when he’s curious about something. Bebe can sense he’s about to say something, so she turns on her heel and goes into the kitchen to make more pies for the day before he can.

Under the warm kitchen lights, baking manages to relax her a little bit, but it isn’t as relieving as usual. Sure, it’s therapeutic to think about pouring her emotions into the crust along with the blueberries, but the problem is she can’t really pinpoint what her emotions are. They’re scattered and all over the place, much like her mind at the moment. She’s unfocused, off her game.

She wonders if her mother ever felt like this.

Bebe dwells on that thought for a moment, pausing. She guesses her mother felt like this often. When Mr. Stevens got too aggressive, when she lost her job, when she didn’t have enough money - maybe even when she was pregnant with Bebe. She was faced with all of these struggles, and she still got through them by tucking her heart and soul into thin crust and putting it in the oven. If it worked for her, it could work for Bebe.

Without a newfound surge of certainty, Bebe continues working away, her spirit slowly piecing itself back together. She thinks of her mother, with her strong soul and nimble fingers. She thinks of her coworkers, with their kind eyes and huge hearts. She thinks of her father, with his cold stare and balding head. She thinks of her husband, with his god awful music and his smirk and his unwavering backhanded compliments. She thinks of the baby, the parasite in her stomach robbing her of any hope at a normal life she ever possessed-

The oven door slams shut with a bang, and Bebe exhales deeply. Her mind is racing, but she can’t deny that she feels much better. Ignoring her stomach rolling, she wipes flour off of her cheek with the back of her hand and looks up, lips lifted upwards in a content smile that Bebe cherishes while she has it.

She quietly murmurs, “Mother, it’s amazing what baking can do,” to herself, for no real reason except the glimmer of hope that, somehow, she would be heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im . back fhfljdgkjd  
> sorry fr the long wait i have exams very soon so school is hectic atm and iHate This Chapter but hey what can u do!  
> def wont b able to update for a while bc of said exams but ill try my best  
> the good news is IM SEEIN WAITRESS IN LONDON IN EXACTLY ONE (1) WEEK!!! absolutely buzzin lads ready 2 cry my eyes out for two hours  
> anyway ms wendy will b introduced next chapter so . thats excitin fhjfhkdgk also scott tenorman as earl makes me fuckin giggle for some reason so there u go  
> okay uhhh yea thats all thank u fr the support so far!!! see u wit the next update<3


End file.
